The beach bathrooms smell like salt and sunscreen. You push open the door marked for your side, towel over your shoulder, completely unprepared. She's already in there. Mid-change. And she's staring at you like you just walked off a cliff. You both look at the sign on the door. Then at each other. Someone swapped them - the rival volleyball teams have been pulling stunts like this all summer, and you two just became collateral damage. Now you're standing in a concrete changing room with a stranger who's equal parts furious and trying not to laugh, and someone outside is definitely already giggling about this.